


Echo Chamber

by Ki_ru



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Begging, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Breathplay, Bubble Bath, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dating, Deepthroating, Echo is a nerd, Edgeplay, Edging, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Lesion is serious boyfriend material, Light Bondage, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oblivious Echo, Orgasm Denial, Piercings, Romance, SAS boys are best boys, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Teasing, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-03-30 08:51:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13948077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ki_ru/pseuds/Ki_ru
Summary: Echo finds himself at the centre of Lesion's attention one day and grows increasingly concerned when he starts to grow fond of him. Something blossoms between them that leaves neither of them unaffected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One late night, an off-hand suggestion as well as my dear darling friend [Magehir](https://magehir.tumblr.com/) was all it took to birth this pairing and now I'm hopelessly in love with it. This is all based on our ramblings of how Lesion would win Echo over, only to find himself in too deep.  
> This fic is a collection of smaller snippets that together make up a whole story that hopefully will be sugary sweet and extremely spicy at the same time❤

“A what now?”, Echo asks, incredulous, clutching Yokai for emotional support in case he _didn’t_ mishear. The whole situation is embarrassing enough already, what with the fact he’s got a pretty good idea of what the man in front of him looks like without his clothes now and it’s the kind of thing he could’ve done without knowing, thank you very much.

Lesion’s smile is unwavering, bright and entirely too genuine for someone who caught someone supposedly spying on him only an hour ago – the old man really is shameless after all, too relaxed and having no trouble upholding eye contact where Echo flounders. “A date”, he repeats patiently, “you know? A rendezvous? That seems like adequate compensation to me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” It’s not the worst thing Lesion could demand – after all, he holds a considerable amount of power over him since if word gets out that Echo uses his trusty drone to peep on his fellow operators, it’d be a serious blow to his already shaky reputation of which he’s sure Lesion is aware. However, the thought of going on a _date_ with him is exceedingly weird, especially since they’ve barely interacted in the past. It’s not that Echo dislikes the jovial SDU operator, not at all, he’s always been entertaining even when his sadistic side shows during missions, it’s just… dating him seems _absurd_.

“Of course I’m kidding.” Lesion grins at him and he almost rolls his eyes – he should’ve expected it, Lesion frequently hangs around with the SAS guys as well as Bandit, so jokes of this nature are far from uncommon. “So, where would you like to go?”

Wait a second. “What do you mean?”

“For our date. Any preferences?”

“But you said -”

“Do you always argue this much when someone offers to take you anywhere you want and pay for everything?”

The bastard is _still smiling_ and Echo can feel himself becoming flustered because it dawns on him the old man is serious after all. “No, but I’m not -”

“Where did you take Ying when you were dating, hm?”

It’s the first time either of the two acknowledges Echo’s romantic entanglement with Lesion’s colleague to each other and it couldn’t have happened at a more inopportune time because Echo can’t help but think _Now I’ve seen both of them come_ and almost drops Yokai on his own foot. “I don’t know, restaurants? To the movies? We went to the zoo once. Oh, and there was this special event where -”

“A theme park? That sounds like a wonderful idea actually, it’s been ages since I’ve been to one. We’re both off duty the day after tomorrow, do you have anything planned for that day yet?”

He does, as a matter of fact. He’s been planning to stay home all day and play video games, order food and take his mind off the job, it’s supposed to be one of those days that restore his energy, let him recharge, clear his head. Visiting a theme park with _Lesion_ of all people sounds exactly like the sort of stress he doesn’t need – even if he has to admit he enjoys roller coasters immensely. It’s off-season, too, no school holidays, it’d be during the week so there would be next to no lines… The more he thinks about it –

“Great. I’ll pick you up in the morning, alright?”

Echo is starting to wonder whether Lesion can read minds. “I didn’t know there were any theme parks nearby”, he voices his next thought out loud and Lesion’s smile _grows_.

“There aren’t. It’s going to be a day trip.” And with these words and a fucking _wink_ , he leaves. He just. He just walks away without giving Echo the chance to protest or ask what just happened because they went from _Did you enjoy the show_ to _Let’s go on a day-long date_ so fast his head is spinning.

He notices his jaw has dropped at Lesion’s audacity, so he quickly closes his mouth before he ends up yelling something embarrassing into the hallway and turns around to go back to his room and return Yokai to its rightful place.

Come to think of it, he has no idea how it ended up in Lesion’s room in the first place. He certainly didn’t put it there himself.

 ~*~

 Somehow, despite really knowing better, a part of Echo didn’t believe Lesion would actually go through with it. Yet he got up early, showered, had a meagre breakfast in his underwear in front of his computer screen and caught himself pondering his outfit choices as if this was an actual date and he was trying to impress someone. He wasn’t. Still, he’s going out in public so he might as well look his best, right? He brushes his teeth, tames his hair, hums to himself and catches himself pacing restlessly when he’s ready. As if he’s looking forward to this. _He isn’t._

Lesion’s car is exactly like he imagined it: tiny, cluttered and old. Echo has to fold himself in half to get in and adjust the seat so his knees don’t come up to his chest but once he’s done all that, it’s kind of cosy. “I bought some food for the drive and coffee if you haven’t had any yet”, Lesion greets him, annoyingly awake and chirpy, let alone suspiciously _nice_. He’s still insisting that Echo doesn’t spend a penny and when he points out that this was supposed to be a “punishment” of some kind, Lesion just waves his objection aside with a: “Don’t be ridiculous.”

The car ride turns out surprisingly pleasant, even if Lesion is a _terrible_ singer which does nothing to deter him from doing it regardless. As soon as Echo notices that the ancient car radio doesn’t even have the local channels programmed in, he does Lesion the favour while grumbling about old people and technology, somehow amusing Lesion to no end. For most of the drive, Echo plays around on his phone while they chat about everything and nothing like terrible English food, how lucky they are people in the UK drive on the correct side of the road, bits and pieces of their past. Echo is relieved to notice Lesion doesn’t mind his occasionally harsh words even if he happens to disagree – he’s patient, something Echo wouldn’t have expected of him. When they’re nearly there, he’s stir crazy enough to join in as Lesion offers his rendition of Britney Spears and so they arrive giddy and comfortably at ease with each other.

As the day progresses, Echo gets more and more confused.

The theme park is worth its money and chock full of rides that make his adrenaline spike and a childish laugh bubble out of him that he hasn’t heard in a long time, the thrill elating and devoid of the tension, the alertness Echo has become so accustomed to, the dread that accompanies him on missions and that he forces down, channels into cockiness. His joy feels pure and innocent and he genuinely can’t remember when he last allowed himself to not worry about time, not think about all the other things he could be doing, ignore the nagging voice inside that constantly reminds him not to waste the day. But this is not the confusing part.

Lesion is. He continues to baffle him with his generosity, attentiveness and charisma. Echo learns not to point out anything food related anymore because before the words have left his mouth, Lesion has bought it for him and already asks if he wants more despite him not even having tried it yet. Apart from that, he indulges Echo’s every whim, never once complains about going on the same ride five times in a row, makes ridiculous comments about how likely they are to die on each one, even pointing at the children’s rides and listing possible ways to perish with a grave face (“pissing your pants in public – that’d be societal death, almost worse than the real thing”) until Echo almost cries laughing.

He doesn’t know what he expected but it wasn’t this. It’s almost like spending a day with an old friend, re-discovering mutual interests and enjoying each other’s company, only they’ve never been friends and he’s certain Lesion has _some_ kind of ulterior motive, judging by the way he keeps watching him out of the corner of his eye. Whether he wants to fuck with Echo or something else entirely is not completely clear.

On the way back, Echo dozes off to Lesion humming along to Taylor Swift and is woken up by a gentle touch on his shoulder, a thumb rubbing over the exposed skin on his neck, then knuckles brush his cheek, ticklish, and when fingertips start carding through his hair, he stirs and makes the hand withdraw, stretches and yawns before blinking at Lesion who somehow always regards him with this one specific expression: an open smile, a curious look, almost expectant. Echo realises this was the first time Lesion has touched him deliberately and he doesn’t know how he should feel about the fact he doesn’t mind it.

Still. The confusion stays with him. “What… exactly was this?”, he asks, hesitating, averting his gaze again.

“A good time, I’d hope”, is the cheery reply.

“No, I mean”, Echo starts again and has the feeling Lesion knows _exactly_ what he means. “I don’t get it. This was what you wanted?” Ultimately, what he wants to know is whether their “deal” is concluded.

“Yes”, Lesion says simply. There is more to it. There _has_ to be more. “If you like, we can conclude this date with a kiss?” And before Echo can protest, he leans over a little and offers his cheek.

Well. It’s so little to ask that Echo would feel bad if he refused, so he complies, leans in and – and then there’s movement and Lesion is too fast, plants a kiss right on Echo’s lips and he actually _jumps_. This wasn’t -

“You drool when you sleep”, Lesion tells him, his smile now of a decidedly smug quality, “it’s cute.”

“Okay. I’m out. Bye.” Echo unfolds himself out of the car as fast as possible and can somehow hear Lesion’s chuckling follow him all the way to his apartment door that he unlocks with burning cheeks.

 ~*~ 

“You didn’t have to accompany me all the way here”, Echo feels the need to point out as the door to his apartment swings open, a portal to a familiar universe in which there are no increasingly puzzling old men who inexplicably take him on innocent dates that leave him bewildered and weirdly happy at the same time. He’s looking forward to doing nothing for the rest of evening in preparation of an entire day of doing nothing tomorrow – he’s off duty and Lesion hasn’t even made any plans that include him so naturally that he never finds the right moment to refuse.

On the previous occasion, Lesion took him to a technological museum and allowed Echo to lecture him on pretty much every exhibit which resulted in them staying the entire day because they chatted forever with the employees as well as a few curious enthusiasts. And while it was nice, Echo still has _no idea what’s going on_. He came home that day thoroughly bemused and feeling like he missed something, any indication of what it is Lesion wants.

It’s similar today, Lesion invited him over for, as he called it, a romantic candle light dinner but couldn’t keep a straight face while doing so, therefore Echo was intrigued and accepted the invitation. The promised meal turned out to be Chinese take-out lovingly served in cardboard boxes and with terribly cheap chopsticks that hurt Echo’s soul. The practical joke lasts exactly to the moment Lesion tries some of the food, contorts his face into a disgusted grimace Echo has never seen anyone do before, proclaims it vile and an affront and takes Echo to a nearby Burger King instead. Then they went for a walk and here they are, Lesion completely at ease as usual.

“How else am I supposed to get my first proper kiss?”, he replies and makes no move to turn around and leave in the near future.

Echo sighs internally and bids farewell to a lazy evening alone. “Would you like to come in?”

“Of course, how nice of you to ask!” He’s grinning now, the old bastard, undoubtedly knows it’s not Echo’s hospitality speaking but rather pure exasperation coupled with the knowledge Lesion is just going to inch his way into the flat if Echo doesn’t explicitly prevent it and that would be rude after he’s already paid for all the food. He’s not comfortable with granting Lesion entry into his abode since it’s messy, clothes and tools strewn everywhere – besides, it feels weirdly intimate to invite him in. Like crossing a figurative threshold on top of an actual one.

He tries to not let Lesion’s curious gaze wandering through his small apartment bother him as they step into the tiny kitchen. Remembering he’s supposed to be the gracious host now, Echo asks more as an afterthought: “Do you want anything to drink?”

“I’m good, thank you. There’s only one thing I want”, comes the casual reply as Lesion eyes the electrical mess on the small kitchen table, courtesy of about three different projects Echo has started and largely abandoned.

“What, make fun of how untidy everything is?”

“No, actually, I think your clothes look _very_ good on the floor”, Lesion says so nonchalantly that Echo can’t help but snort. Remarks like this have increased in frequency and he still hasn’t figured out how to react to them, so he mostly laughs them off. Lesion seems like a compulsive flirt and he normally laughs with Echo, switches topics and that’s it. Only… he’s not laughing now. There’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, yes, but it’s different from the open one that Echo’s used to.

There’s enough time to stop him. Lesion steps over where Echo is leaning against the counter, keeping him in place with nothing but his expectant gaze, stands between Echo’s legs, leans in and kisses him. He’s neither sneaky nor fast about it, Echo has no excuse not to react yet lets it happen, feels soft lips on his for no more than two seconds and his heart forgets how to beat for a moment. And he thinks: _Oh._

_He wasn’t joking after all_.

When Lesion pulls back again, Echo feels compelled to clear this up while his mind frantically backtracks, looks for clues Lesion has been serious all along and finds _so many_ he ends up dumbstruck and more than a little embarrassed. “I think you misunderstood”, he starts uncertainly and prepares for hurt to creep into the old man’s features, instead finds only amusement.

“Did I?”, Lesion wants to know cheerily and then his lips are back, more insistent than before though still gentle and again, as so often, Echo gets swept up in his pace because he thinks _fuck it_ and he’s always wondered what it’s like to make out with another guy anyway and he can explain that he’s not gay afterwards. And so he gives in, tilts his head a little and returns the kiss, has to remind himself to breathe and it’s been a while since he was this close to another human, enjoyed something as private as this. He savours the warmth that spreads from his midsection, is acutely aware of Lesion’s thighs between his and somehow…

Lesion’s hands are on his sides now, stroking him lightly as he sucks on Echo’s lower lip, thumbs tracing his ribs through his t-shirt and, like everything he does, it’s surprisingly pleasant. He’s a good kisser, more dominant than the women Echo’s been with, attentive and engaging, licks over his upper lip to request entry, plays with his tongue and Echo notices with growing concern that he’s getting hard from this. The deeper the kiss gets, the deeper his fingernails bite into his own palms, his hands balled into fists uselessly and his body demanding more, disconcertingly enthusiastic about the whole Lesion-shoving-his-tongue-down-his-throat situation.

It feels so _good_ , is the problem – Lesion isn’t pushing him, instead gently nudging and encouraging him with decidedly filthy things he can do with his tongue and so Echo loses himself gradually, forgets about the fact they’re standing in his kitchen and Lesion _likes_ him and he really needs to sit down with himself and reflect on why all this is giving him a boner.

When they break apart, Echo is out of breath and slightly disoriented and needs Lesion to _leave_ because his presence alone is confusing and vaguely upsetting because he keeps _smiling_ at him as if Echo was a piece of art. He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind in the hopes it will deter Lesion from ever kissing him again: “I’m sorry, I’m not… I’m not attracted to you.” And before he can even possibly regret being so blunt, there’s a hand in his crotch and the heel of a palm grinding against his erection, fingers feeling out his balls and a quiet _oh fuck_ escapes him at the unexpected stimulation. Instinctively, he grabs Lesion’s wrist, intending to push it away. “Don’t – don’t touch me.”

Lesion’s chuckle by his ear makes his toes curl. “Oh, sweetheart”, he sighs and as Lesion sucks on the side of his neck, Echo looks down to find his own hips rolling against Lesion’s hand that he’s keeping in place with a firm grip around Lesion’s wrist. Arousal together with bewilderment are clouding his mind and so he’s got no presence of mind left to refuse when Lesion suggests: “Let’s take this to the bedroom, hm?”

 ~*~

 Echo is teetering on the edge, the tips of his toes right on it, his gaze longingly staring down into the chasm that promises relief, he’s so tense he’s almost curling in on himself, completely at someone else’s mercy only that person has no understanding of that concept because Lesion pulls off his dick yet _again_ and leaves him shuddering and gasping for air. Then Lesion’s lips close around one of his already overly sensitive nipples and all Echo wants to do is smack him for clouding his mind like this, making him squirm like an inexperienced virgin which Echo isn’t, thank you very much, he’s just never done it with another guy and luckily not with a _devil_ before either because it’s unbearable.

This is the third time he’s been left hanging, denied his release. It’s starting to become a familiar feeling, the marrow-deep disappointment, the betrayal, and he _hates_ it, hates that Lesion is affecting him so much, can so accurately pinpoint the second right before his orgasm would hit him. He doesn’t even know what time it is, they’ve been at it for what feels like ages and so far all that’s happened is that Lesion won’t stop complimenting him and playing with his nipples while he sucks him off so expertly that Echo can’t think of anything more appealing than coming down his throat, only Lesion _won’t let him_.

He’s a demon, Echo is sure of this by now: smooth, confident, attentive, generous, but also pure evil. “Lesion”, he huffs, annoyed, aroused, reaching for his painfully hard dick and wishing the old man physical discomfort upon him swatting his hand away, “get me off already, what are you _doing_?” He doesn’t get an immediate answer, instead Lesion laces their fingers together, presses Echo’s hands over his head into the mattress and awards him with another one of his deep kisses that are filthy and intimate at the same time, his tongue is running over Echo’s teeth and it’s enough to make him moan into Lesion’s mouth and lift his hips futilely, seeking any sort of stimulation that could push him over.

To claim he’s intimidated would be an overstatement though he’s not used to his partner taking the lead like this at all, if anything he was _allowed_ to lean back, not required – Lesion is assertive to a point where Echo has to think hard about whether he’s uncomfortable or not. He’s been undressed very quickly into their heated make out session that initialised whatever this is while Lesion is still mostly clothed, has only taken off his t-shirt after the first almost-orgasm. On top of that he’s actively encouraged not to interfere, allow Lesion free reign though so far it has brought him nothing but frustration and a throbbing cock; he has to admit Lesion’s confidence is a turn-on though it’s easy to feel inadequate in the face of his unquestionable experience, so it’s a weird mix of emotions.

When Lesion wants to withdraw again, Echo chases his lips, convinces him to keep kissing a little longer and manages to achieve contact between their lower halves, grinds up into the other man, uncaring about the unfamiliar bulge in his crotch, only concerned about the friction generated that feels heavenly if he could just keep it up. His legs wrap around Lesion’s waist, pulling him in further and so Echo gains some leverage, pressing against the warm body over him and groaning defeatedly because it’s only a matter of time before he’s denied _this_ stimulation as well. They break the kiss and he’s not prepared for the expression on Lesion’s face, watching desire, utter _helplessness_ and something small and gentle battle on it.

“Darling, there are so many things I’d like to do to you”, he tells Echo softly and his words conjure up ideas that take hold in his fragile mind, overcome by arousal and hardly in a state to make any responsible decisions – ideas that somehow increase the already overpowering need.

“What things?”, he can’t help but ask; his interest is piqued and maybe it’ll guarantee a swift release if he plays along. At this point, he might even agree to letting Lesion fuck him if he wants to – part of him wants to prove he’s not afraid, another part is curious and another, significantly larger part genuinely thinks it’ll be hot. He’s heard _details_ in passing, never acted on it, never researched but if he’s ever going to try it out, now’s the perfect time.

“I can’t decide.” A small smile creeps onto his face and he actually seems to be thinking, indicating it’s not just idle dirty talk but there really _is_ a variety of things he wants to do. He sits back up, perched between Echo’s legs like a benevolent God, pondering how he should reward his trusty followers, one of his hands absently teasing Echo’s dick with touches too light to be satisfying. “What are you comfortable with? What do you definitely _not_ want me to do?” He catches Echo’s hand and presses kisses into his palm, effectively stopping him from touching his own erection once more.

There’s no way Echo will lay down all the things with which he is and isn’t okay because that would take forever and his cock would’ve liked to ejaculate about half an hour ago. Maybe it’s also that he doesn’t _know_ about half the things he might or might not want so his best bet is getting Lesion to talk about it. “Make suggestions and I’ll tell you yes or no.”

“Alright. Can I finger you?” A nod. He’s tried it himself, once or twice, though not very successfully. He’s got more faith in Lesion – he seems to know what he’s doing. “Can I fuck you, too?” Another nod, now embarrassed. It’s easier to admit it non-verbally, to not have to say it out loud and he hopes Lesion leaves it at that though his eyebrows lift considerably at his answer. “… would you like me to?” The third nod renders Lesion speechless, has him open and close his mouth mutely, avert his gaze, distractedly run his fingers over Echo’s thigh. He looks dumbfounded, the exact opposite of his previously almost cocky attitude, obviously hasn’t expected this answer. He takes a moment to regain his composure, then he asks: “Okay, so how about I give you the worst and then the best orgasm of your life?”

 ~*~

 “That doesn’t make any sense. Orgasms are like pizza, even if it’s bad pizza it’s still _pizza_ ”, Echo objects and feels sheepish at Lesion’s immediate, Cheshire cat-like grin. He’s clearly out of his depth but would never admit it, best to just allow the old man to do his worst, chalk it up as a learning experience and then go back to the single life he’s become so accustomed to over the past years.

“Want me to explain, demonstrate, or do both?” Lesion’s fingers have found one of Echo’s nipples yet again, stroking it sensually, indubitably aware of how sensitive they are, how they make Echo’s cock jump and his back curve. He has trouble concentrating on their talking, especially now that the feathery touches in his crotch become more adamant.

“Just do it”, he grates out since he’s past caring and _any_ climax sounds phenomenal right now. “But no weird shit. Don’t hurt me or something.”

“I would never without your explicit consent”, Lesion tells him sincerely, “and I promise you I won’t do anything. I’ll have to tie you up though because you’d ruin it otherwise, is that alright?” Exasperated, Echo nods – this is decidedly too elaborate for what should’ve been a simple affair to get their rocks off. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop and untie you immediately, okay? If you _only_ tell me to untie you… I won’t.” He winks good-naturedly and Echo has the sneaking suspicion he missed something, has neglected to read between the lines somewhere.

Under Echo’s instructions, Lesion finds a tie that’s been doing nothing but collecting dust in his closet and some massage oil that smells faintly like lavender and meticulously fastens Echo’s wrists to the metal bars of the headboard, keeping them tight yet not painful, the smooth fabric keeping his arms in place with a knot that looks unusual. This, too, comes to Lesion so naturally there’s no doubt he’s done this before. When he’s done, he sits down next to Echo, studies him for a moment and ignores his impatient, irritated glare. “You’re gorgeous, my dear”, he murmurs and doesn’t sound like he’s being facetious, “and so sensitive, too. I’m going to enjoy this.”

“What about me?”, Echo demands to know with a hint of worry. The only reply is an enigmatic smile before an oil-slicked hand encircles his unwaveringly hard shaft that rejoices at the touch, greets the deft fingers with a throb and is stroked at a moderate pace in return, fast enough to quickly build up pleasure though not as quick as Echo would like. He moans under his breath, stretches his naked body to get comfortable and doesn’t miss the way Lesion’s heated gaze rakes over him. His body is hopeful, surely Lesion won’t disappoint him again, he’ll let him come this time, caress him for a while and then maybe make him come once more, that’s what he suggested after all.

Right?

 

Twenty minutes later, Echo is a trembling mess. He’s not allowed any respite, where he thought being brought to the edge thrice and left hanging was bad enough, he’s proven wrong so thoroughly and mercilessly that he’s starting to see stars from every bit of stimulation he gets. There are no pauses now, Lesion continuously teases him to just before the point of no return, makes him whine and shudder and cant his hips full of hope that _this time_ he’ll be able to finish before abandoning his cock, waiting no more than a few seconds when the feeling has subsided marginally and continuing to pump him lazily.

His other hand is not better, fingertips keep rubbing over Echo’s nipples that by now are wired to his crotch, cause more pleasure that can’t go anywhere, fuel the fire roaring in him that demands to be released. Every light touch goes straight into his dick, making it throb and pulse and protest against its maltreatment, weeping constant tears of defeat. He didn’t know his nipples were that much of an erogenous zone for him, wasn’t aware that a patient hand could do this much damage; he writhes and pants and can’t see straight from the need thrumming in his temples, fights against the restraints yet is ultimately powerless. Lesion holds him in his palm.

Meanwhile, the old man has never been happier, keeps reassuring Echo how well he’s doing, how stunning he looks, how responsive his body is and Echo wants to strangle him. His pleas fall on deaf ears, his whimpers are met with a bright smile, his squirming awarded with gentle touches all over his torso and thighs. Having given up control so wholly is a new experience, exciting as well as slightly unsettling; he’s being laid bare, brought to a point where he produces noises he hardly recognises as his own and actually loses himself in the sensations so he doesn’t even care about the fact that Lesion is doing all this to him.

And then he hears the magic words. “Are you ready? Do you want to come?”

All he can do is nod frantically, whisper _yes_ over and over again, tense his abs so much he’ll definitely feel the strain tomorrow, shift his legs and gasp in anticipation, finally, _finally_ he’ll be allowed to climax, he knows this because Lesion is leaning a little closer now, his grip has tightened, the speed increased. This one is real, Echo can feel it coming and it’s enormous, maybe he’ll pass out but he doesn’t care because at last, _at last_ –

He passes the point of no return, knows there’s no going back now and is ready to hand himself over to the blissful feeling of a well-deserved orgasm when Lesion removes his hand the very moment he passes it, removes both his hands, actually, sits back and watches. Echo’s pelvic muscles clamp down desperately, his cock twitches but there’s no stopping him – only it’s nothing like what he hoped for. It’s like nothing at all. Without any stimulation, it doesn’t feel good, it feels like _betrayal_ , there’s nothing of the usual contractions that accompany an orgasm, no rush of relief. And yet, he comes.

Horrified, Echo watches as semen dribbles out of his cock, a weak stream without any force behind it at all, he can feel it seeping out of him, only it’s doing nothing but drain him, pooling on his lower belly like a small puddle of shame. There’s nothing satisfying about it, just the vague sensation of having ejaculated, his body sending all the signals of _that’s it, what more do you want_ except his arousal is still there, hurting his teeth and even fiercer than before. He’s still rock hard. He still feels the desperate need to come despite knowing that he can’t, won’t be able to.

A warm touch on his wrists makes him realise he’s cutting off the circulation to his hands, so he forces himself to relax his arms and, still in shock, looks at Lesion who returns his gaping with an expectant grin. “What”, he starts and violently shudders when a hand is wrapped around his erection that’s so raw it almost hurts, “no, no, Lesion, don’t, what was that?”

“Nothing short of beautiful.” The fingers are back at his nipples again and he _keens_ , throws his head back, pulls on the tie. “I did tell you I wouldn’t do anything, didn’t I? I can keep doing this until you’re completely empty, sweetheart. But I won’t. The next one’s going to feel so much better, I promise.”

 ~*~

 He should’ve known it wasn’t over the moment Lesion gathered the sperm from the base of his cock to use it as additional lubricant. It’s unfamiliar, feels sticky and weirdly warm and besides, he’s never masturbated with his own come before – not like it matters right now, he’s too preoccupied with regulating his breath so he doesn’t hyperventilate as well as with the ruthless hand on his shaft that feels like too much and not enough simultaneously. Time has become irrelevant, he’s resigned himself to his fate of getting jerked off until his mortal soul leaves his body; sadly, that doesn’t mean he’s any less affected.

If anything, it’s even _worse_ now because with the overstimulation, his dick feels tender, jumps in Lesion’s light grip and makes him shy away from further touching. The soreness lessens after a couple of minutes but his arousal keeps increasing, especially when they’re back at the point where Lesion massages his glans, teases the sensitive spot right below the head and strokes him at a leisurely pace that builds up need steadily though slowly, a need that will inevitably be denied, as so many times before. A warm palm glides over his chest, only a minor distraction from the torture going on further down.

Despite having ejaculated already, he’s still _aching_ to come, needs the fulfilment, some sort of closure; he’s in limbo right now, suspended in mid-air, no ground under his feet yet there’s no impact either. His mind can form no words just like his ears can hear no sounds but the ones falling from his lips. The grip tightens, the rhythm speeds up and there’s a sliver of hope remaining, pure and optimistic and naive and _crushed_ when the hand disappears once more. The frustration is unbearable now, he’s trying to do something, anything, digs his heels into his mattress and thrusts up into the fist that returns once he’s stepped away from the edge, curls his toes so hard they hurt, tenses up his legs, his abs, his arms, his entirety.

Lust veils his consciousness, he’s never been this far gone, has never felt so powerless before, his own body committing treason by allowing Lesion to toy with it this freely and unpunished. He holds his breath as another climax approaches, hopes, wishes, pleads, is abandoned again and pants desperately, sinking back into the pillows, feeling the urge to kick and thrash, yanks on the tie and doesn’t let the soothing hand on his cheek fool him. There are tears of frustration forming in the corners of his eyes now and he’s _weak_ , incapacitated, a wreck.

There’s one thing he can do, however, and so he looks at Lesion from under his hooded eyes and _begs_. “Please let me come”, he whispers out of breath, “please. Please, Lesion, let me come.” It becomes his mantra, interrupted only by a disbelieving whine when he’s so close he feels it in his _throat_ , then he’s back to pleading and whimpering and imploring, his knuckles white, his thighs trembling, his heart racing. Lesion’s expression barely registers but it’s completely at odds with his cruelty, it’s full of adoration and affection.

“Okay”, he says simply and the brevity of his statement sends Echo into a full blown panic.

“No, no, no”, he gasps, staring at the hand around his shaft as if he could make it move to his will, “don’t do it again, please don’t do it again, I don’t want it, do it right, _please_ -” And he’s babbling now, terrified of repeating whatever it is that Lesion did to him previously because he’s pretty sure if it happens again, he’s going to perish.

“Shh, it’s okay, I won’t do it again, I promise”, Lesion reassures him, fingers now stroking Echo’s cheek, his forehead, his temples, “this one will be good, alright? It’s okay, love, I promise. Just relax.”

Nothing is more impossible. He’s afraid to kick Lesion off the bed soon if this continues a minute longer, he can’t even feel his feet anymore – nor his hands, actually. All that he feels are the strokes that have returned in a regular rhythm that’s heaven, giving him _just enough_ to work with, drag him closer and closer, right on the edge again, there’s a thumb swiping over the tip, a soft brush over one of his nipples and then he’s flung over with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs.

The first contraction in his lower abdomen is pure ecstasy, bright and blinding and cut in glass, time stands still for that one beautiful moment when he finally comes, is allowed a full orgasm; he must look like he’s in pain, face scrunched up, body curling in and his mouth open. Then it hits him and wave after wave ripples through his body, blazing pleasure that accompanies every spurt of come shooting out of him, that has him arch his back into a perfect curve and moan unselfconsciously. It’s more than just sweet release, it’s a revelation and rapture and unadulterated bliss. Never before has he climaxed this long, it won’t _stop_ , Lesion keeps stroking him through all of it and milks him dry and even when there’s no more semen to expel, he’s still convulsing, still shuddering and moaning helplessly because it _doesn’t end_.

He pants in shallow breaths, forcing his hands to unclench, his legs to stretch out and his body to relax and even then he’s still hit with aftershocks, jolts and curses quietly, barely manages to get his eyes to focus. The feeling is unreal, his cock is still doing the occasional twitch, the muscles in his stomach hurt like hell and his shoulders are on fire yet there’s an overlying satisfaction to everything he’s doing – his orgasm just now doesn’t even compare to any others, its intensity is unmatched and it left behind an equally fantastic afterglow that dulls his senses instead of allowing him to sober up and think rationally about what just happened.

Vaguely, Echo registers that his wrists are being untied and then massaged so he can feel his fingers again. “How do you feel?”, Lesion wants to know almost _conversationally_ , as if he didn’t just shake the entire foundation on which Echo’s world stands. “Are you alright?”

“Holy fucking shit”, Echo mumbles back and leaves it at that, earns a cheerful laugh and a quick kiss to his palm, then Lesion gets up and rummages around in the adjacent bathroom. Since he’s not able to move a single muscle, Echo just lies there motionlessly and allows him to clean him up with a warm wash cloth – apparently he needed it, too, because he came _everywhere_. Exhaustion overtakes him swiftly, weighs down his limbs and has him close his eyes tiredly. The gentle caresses with which Lesion continues after he’s done wiping everything away don’t help him stay awake in the least.

“Can I do anything for you?” He’d like to answer that Lesion can keep petting him as lovingly as he’s doing right now but since he’s already doing that with no sign of stopping, there’s no need to reply. He hums quietly and contently and lets sleep take over.

 ~*~

There’s soft light and quiet rustling coming from the other side of the room when Echo opens his eyes blearily. It takes him a few moments to focus, his throat is parched, his body thoroughly exhausted and he hasn’t felt this peaceful in a long time. Grateful to whoever put it there, he gulps down the glass of water on his beside table after sitting up a little, then he examines Lesion who’s made himself comfortable in his computer chair, a blanket around his shoulders, a book in his hands and a mug next to him – he looks so at home it’s a miracle he’s not wearing woollen socks or a pyjama. “What are you doing?”, Echo asks, voice thick with sleep, and rubs at his face, checks the time. He slept for about an hour.

“I didn’t know whether you wanted me to leave”, comes the calm reply, accompanied by a warm smile at odds with his words. After all he did, after all… _that_ , he still believes Echo might kick him out. He’s not even too far off, part of Echo wants to be left alone, curl up in a ball and just not deal with anything, only now that he’s gotten a taste, he realises how much he actually misses physical affection. Wordlessly, he holds up a corner of the blanket and watches patiently as Lesion immediately abandons everything he was doing, discards his clothes except for his underwear and slips under the covers, his limbs cool against Echo’s but the embrace into which he pulls him tight and reassuring.

They shift around a little, Echo wraps his arms around the other body that’s all angles, sharp, unfamiliar and still comforting, buries his face in the crook of his neck and pushes one of his legs between Lesion’s. The result is cosy to such an extent that he decides never to move again and sighs blissfully when fingertips dig into tense spots in his back and shoulders even if the person bringing relief right now is the same one who’s to blame in the first place. An added bonus is that he doesn’t have to look at Lesion directly – thinking back to earlier, he feels awkward, as if he’d been drunk and unruly while Lesion merely watched it happen, completely sober. Did he overreact? Get lost in the moment? Should he be ashamed?

“You bent the bed”, Lesion murmurs into his hair and it takes him a second to parse this information, then he leans back and inspects the headboard. Sure enough, the metal bar to which he was tied is severely bent out of shape, sticking out awkwardly and reminding him of the whole ordeal. Before he can be embarrassed, though, a warm hand comes to rest on his cheek and then he’s being kissed, soft and gentle and his mind is still reeling a bit from the fact that all of this happened and is still happening. It’s nice. He can’t deny that, he’s enjoying himself immensely as long as he doesn’t ponder the implications or possible entanglements. He needs to blot out his thoughts and so he returns the kiss, relaxes under the soothing hand on his back and doesn’t think.

He suddenly becomes acutely aware of their state of undress, the only piece of clothing between them being Lesion’s briefs, and – fuelled by the tongue licking into his mouth – he decides to be reckless, nudges his thigh a little higher, directly against Lesion’s crotch and feels him smile against his lips as he shifts his hips and returns the pressure. Then something occurs to him. “Lesion -”

“Tze Long.”

The correction makes his blood rush to his face and he interrupts their kissing though Lesion persists and peppers him with more while he protests. “I’m not – mm – calling you that.”

“You’re refusing?”, Lesion asks for clarification, grinning widely. “You’ve had your dick in my mouth but you won’t call me by my first name?”

“No, it’s just…” Words elude him as he frantically scrambles to explain what he means without having to reflect on it. He vividly remembers the moment in which Ying asked him to use her first name, him reciprocating, they’d been dating for a bit and decided to go serious and this – this is _nothing_ like that. Except they have been dating, or rather Lesion dated _him_ while he was completely oblivious and there’s no escaping it now, he’s either a stupid idiot and has led Lesion on _or_ he’s a stupid idiot and also interested in him and oh boy, neither of those options sound particularly uncomplicated. The fact that he did indeed have his cock in Lesion’s mouth and very enthusiastically so points towards the second option and he _really_ doesn’t want to go there right now. “Can we not?”, he requests feebly and is met with another press of lips on lips, this one deep and slow and somehow reassuring.

When they come up for air again, Echo’s skin has heated up considerably and he notices Lesion’s hand has slid down to his lower back, just shy of his ass and remembers what he originally wanted to say: “Did you even come?”

He regrets asking almost immediately but Lesion takes it in stride: “I definitely didn’t wank alone in your bathroom, so no.”

“And you didn’t – didn’t do anything that I -”

“Darling, sex is so much more than just fucking”, Lesion informs him with an indulgent smile and while this would sound awfully cheesy coming from probably everybody else, he makes it sound quite practical. In retrospect, Echo is grateful to him for not taking advantage of the permissions he gave or else he might’ve ended up with a proper meltdown. A hand job is easier to rationalise.

Only… it wasn’t just that, was it? Calling it that doesn’t do the whole thing justice, he _cried_ and begged and Lesion took complete control of his body, it was intense and indescribably hot and now Echo’s scalp is tingling from the memories. “Can I see?”, he blurts out before he can help himself and tugs at Lesion’s waistband. Finding out what his exact stance is on this will surely become easier when he’s confronted with a real life dick with which he’s supposed to interact if anything’s going to come out of this.

The old man of course obliges more than willingly, pulls his underwear off and allows Echo to move him so he’s lying on his back, Echo nestled against his side, eyeing his crotch curiously. “You have a piercing”, he states flatly and honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised.

“Right now, I have two, look.” Lesion shows off both, one directly at the base of his shaft that seems to be a curved barbell and a ring opposite of that, right where his penis and testicles meet. “I used to have a lot more, you can still see where they were.”

Gingerly, Echo reaches out and touches them, touches everywhere, inspects someone else’s dick for the very first time in his life and it’s not half as bad as he’d feared, the flesh is warm and grows increasingly stiff under his tentative caresses and experimental tugs and really, it’s just like his own except for the faded spots where there apparently have been piercings before. There are a lot. For now he’s wholly occupied with figuring out how exactly he feels about all this and it doesn’t help that Lesion is watching him thoroughly amused and fond and expectant at the same time while he’s hard in Echo’s light grip. And it’s tempting, Echo wants to see whether he can make the other man come apart under his hands as well. He wants…

He kind of wants to do the same thing to Lesion as Lesion did to him. And this realisation comes as a shock.

 ~*~

 Echo rarely drinks and when he does, it’s in moderation – he’d probably be considered a lightweight but he doesn’t enjoy the vulnerable feeling that is invariably attached to increased intoxication, his inhibitions lowered, his tongue loose and his heart on his sleeve. He much prefers consuming alcohol in the presence of good friends and without having to fear a hangover, throwing up or even a blackout; he can count the times he’s been hungover on his fingers and never went overboard. He’s never experienced one that was nearly as bad as some of the stories he’s heard.

Right now, it might as well be the worst hangover he’s ever had. And he didn’t even _drink_.

Lack of sleep has led to a headache that pulses in his temples, he’s permanently exhausted, his entire body feels raw, his muscles are aching. His nipples are thoroughly sore, the fabric of his t-shirt rubbing uncomfortably against them, and the entirety of his neck is tender and covered in bruises and bite marks that are utterly terrifying and look like a rare disease. His only solace is knowing that he scratched up Lesion pretty badly as well, left behind numerous welts and marks though he suspects the old man wears them with a lot more pride than Echo does. Also more smugly.

And still.

With how long they’ve been up and at it, he’s awake entirely too early, watching yet not really seeing the pale English sun rise from his living room window while his forgotten mug of tea gets cold on the table in front of him. Untangling himself from Lesion’s embrace earlier was surprisingly hard, his every cell craving the warmth and affection the tanned body promises but he needed time to think. Because when he recalls everything that happened, everything they _did_ , there’s a confusing mix of emotions he needs to sort out as soon as possible.

Images flash before his inner eye, Lesion straddling him and fisting both their erections together, edging them at the same time, allowing Echo to take over for a while and stopping him with a gentle hand when either of them gets close and then with a not so gentle hand as Echo grew more insistent and unwilling to cooperate, a struggle for dominance ensuing that Echo lost spectacularly, ending up tied to his bed once again, this time on his stomach with Lesion lazily fucking his thighs, the head of his dick dragging over Echo’s balls with every languid thrust and he _still_ wasn’t allowed to come, no matter how much he whined and begged and trembled and _holy shit_ did his eventual orgasm ruin him to the point of feeling like he might pass out any second. And it felt like proper sex somehow, whatever that means, even if nothing got penetrated except for his concept of reality. So he’s had sex with a man now. And he’s… sated, content. Satisfied.

There’s rustling, footsteps, then a bone-cracking stretch accompanied by a groan and a yawn behind him and he looks up at Lesion who snorts as soon as he catches a glimpse of Echo’s fatigued expression. “Go back to bed, dear, you look worn out. I’ll wake you up in a few hours with breakfast, okay?”

“I’m not gay”, Echo blurts out in response and earns an astonished, amused twitch of the lips.

“Never thought you were. Besides, I find labels unnecessary and -”

“But we can do this again.” This shuts Lesion up effectively and even wipes the self-satisfied smile off his face. “Under a few conditions. In Rainbow, nothing changes, we don’t… interact differently or anything. I don’t want anyone to know. Don’t tell anyone, don’t imply, don’t drop by unannounced and so on. And don’t touch me if we’re in public.”

Lesion might refuse. He senses his hesitation, is pretty sure he wants more than Echo can offer him right now. Instead, he mulls it over and replies: “Alright. For two weeks, then we talk about this again.”

“Three.”

And his grin is back full force. “God, you’re adorable.” Before Echo can protest, he adds: “I have conditions of my own. We meet regularly, you don’t ignore my calls or messages and if there’s any kind of problem, you _talk_ to me.”

This makes him wonder whether Lesion has talked to Ying about their relationship or if he just seems the type to bottle up anything and everything and clam up from time to time. With a slight blush, he nods and fights down both embarrassment as well as surprise at how reasonable Lesion’s demands are – if he’d known how keen Echo secretly is, he might’ve asked for more. “Also, no more of _this_ ”, he mumbles and indicates his abused neck that’s almost entirely purple, making Lesion chuckle, offer no apology and join him on the sofa, tugging at his sleeve. He gives in too easily, curls up against him and melts into his negative space, allowing him to massage the back of his neck which makes his eyes fall shut with a deep, happy sigh.

He never would’ve guessed it could be so easy. Lesion feels like almost the polar opposite of him, confident, forgiving, resilient, hard-working, easygoing – he’s not someone Echo would’ve expected to befriend, let alone fall in bed with, not even someone he expected to _like_. And yet their conversations flow naturally, there’s hardly any awkwardness between them most of the time. Echo doesn’t understand.

“Do you want me to stay the day?”, Lesion’s voice hums against his chest and pulls him out of his thoughts. He could use the time to finish one of his projects or at least keep working on it, clean his flat, find a book to read. He also knows he’s not going to do any of this but it serves as a possible excuse.

“Sure”, he answers instead and idly wonders whether Lesion will finally suck him off for good later.

He also has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve tried fiddling around with the cloaking a bit more since I’ve noticed there’s a small, unnecessary delay affecting the trigger, meaning an enemy could potentially run past fast enough to avoid -” Mute trails off as soon as he looks up from the Gu mine in his hand, noticing that neither of the two people seated with him are paying attention, Lesion staring off into the distance and Smoke staring at Lesion, therefore Mute does the only logical thing: shuts up, props his head up and stares at Smoke.

It takes them an impressively long time to notice none of them are talking and even then Lesion manages to tear his eyes away from his object of interest for just a second, throwing Mute a confused glance only to be distracted by a muffled laugh once more. The two SAS operators exchange an exasperated look and Mute murmurs: “You’re so bloody _gone_ , mate.”

“Huh?” Lesion finally turns to them with an absent-minded smile of whose existence he doesn’t even seem aware. Mute is painfully familiar with the idiotic expression on his face, has seen it in the mirror for a few weeks until he got a hold of himself and, most importantly, Smoke. He hopes he never looks like this when they’re on base or he might have to commit suicide to spare himself the indignity.

“Oh by the way, is that 50 quid I see there? ‘Cos if he didn’t give you the boot, that’s a win for us, as you damn well know.” Under Smoke’s triumphant glare, Lesion sighs, reaches into his pockets, pulls out his wallet and hands both of them a bank note that Smoke accepts with a gleeful grin and an appreciative nod. “Cheers. I knew he wouldn’t do it, you have a silver tongue when you want to and with the way you’ve been ogling him, oh _man_ did you want to.”

“I can assure you, my tongue isn’t my only asset.”

Mute ignores their banter and turns around to examine the person in question, hair perfectly styled as usual, a smattering of indiscernible electronic parts spread out in front of him that make sense only to him, Dokkaebi animatedly gesturing and chatting away at him as he does his best to save vital pieces of his project from her flailing fists. Mute supposes he _is_ attractive though has no idea why someone like Lesion would go for him of all people.

“Babe, we’re suddenly loaded so we’re going boozing tonight.”

There are dark purple love bites covering his neck and more marks around his wrists that Mute can see from where he’s sitting – maybe he found his answers. “100 quid isn’t enough even for you alone”, he replies nonchalantly to Smoke and scoffs. He wouldn’t have thought the rude Japanese guy to be the kinky type though he assumes it’s mostly Lesion’s doing.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who chugged Jameson the entire night last time.”

“And yet you were the one who rang all the wrong doorbells and slept upside down. I remain amazed you didn’t choke to death on your own vomit.” With this, he turns back again to find Smoke squinting at him and smirks. “I couldn’t possibly have woken you up, you were hugging one of my shoes and it was all very adorable.”

“Wherever you dug him up must be a gold mine”, Lesion butts in and indicates Mute, “I thought I’d never see the day where you find someone who’s an even match for your big mouth.”

“Trust me, he’s a perfect fit”, Smoke retorts with a meaningful smile and Mute snorts, embarrassed, “I bet Echo is no match for _you_ though.” He’s seen Lesion in action exactly once when he helped talk down a concerned military officer who threatened to jeopardise one of their missions and the demonstration of his skills was impressive. Mute is convinced Lesion could sell umbrellas in the Sahara.

Just the mention of his name seems to be enough to draw Lesion’s attention back to him. “In some ways maybe not. But he effortlessly surpasses me in others.” Smoke makes a gagging motion and Mute almost gives him away with a chuckle. They’ve had to witness weeks of badly hidden glances and indecisive fidgeting so they’re sick of it by now.

“He’s a bit of a twat”, Mute interjects, “know-it-all, standoffish, elitist. I wouldn’t have thought he’s your type.”

“No need to respond to that, I don’t want to hear you sing his praises”, Smoke adds quickly, “but did you actually fuck him or…”

Lesion shakes his head. “Not yet. It’s all pretty new to him.” That’s something to which Mute can relate though Smoke had no such qualms.

“What, you want to take it slow? Don’t pull my leg, I bet you made him cry.”

“Well… maybe a bit. I did get to tie him up and he didn’t enjoy his first ruined orgasm as much as I did, that’s true.”

“His what? What’s that?”, Mute wants to know curiously but as soon as two pairs of eyes snap to him the feeling of having made a mistake creeps up on him.

“Oh”, Smoke says softly with an extremely interested expression on his face and now Mute is starting to get genuinely scared, “ _oh_ , you don’t know?”

“No, what is it?”, he asks with trepidation and grows even more concerned when Smoke merely smiles.

“That’s okay, babe. I’ll show you, don’t worry.”

He’s about to object when a fourth person slumps down in the chair next to him and announces: “Hey, what do you get when you mix a gullible dickhead, a stupid ass roomba on crack, and enough voltage to fry even the most resilient electronics? _Bye-bye Yokai_!” Proudly, Bandit slaps a concoction on the table that looks truly frightful due to both its intended use as well as the distinct possibility of it electrocuting anyone around it on accident. All three of them stare at him in horror for different reasons – Mute is disgusted by the clear disregard of anything health and safety and he’s certain Smoke and Lesion are worried about Echo. “What? Did I sit down on someone’s pet cockroach? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You need to calm your tits”, Smoke tells him with a nod in the Japanese man’s direction, “don’t fuck with him, go mess with Jäger instead.”

“What happened, do we suddenly like him or what? I thought you couldn’t stand the prick?”

Mute notices the underlying dread in Lesion’s face – having caught Bandit’s attention, especially in a negative way, rarely ends well. Besides, he can imagine Echo twisted Lesion’s arm to keep mum, there’s no way he’d want their… whatever it is to become public knowledge, so it’s not like Lesion can speak up or rein Bandit in, not without him getting suspicious. Inwardly, Mute sighs. “I’ve talked to him a few times”, he lies as casually as he can, “he’s alright. Offered to help me with my jammers, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Bandit’s eyebrows lift, unimpressed. He’s not buying it. “I thought you said he was a self-entitled, snotty -”

“It was a _misunderstanding_ ”, Mute insists and doesn’t miss the thankful gaze Lesion shoots him, “in fact, I’m going to ask him about it right now.” He gets up, dodges Smoke’s hand that threatens to slap his backside and walks over to where Echo and Dokkaebi are sitting, looking up at him inquisitively as he approaches. “Scoot over. We’re besties now, if you know what’s good for you”, he tells the Japanese operator gravely and ignores his befuddled blinking. He can feel Smoke’s appreciative smile from here.

There’s no doubt Lesion is in way over his head – he doesn’t need Bandit interfering as well, so if Mute can help preventing their bubble from popping too soon, he will.

 

~*~

 

When Echo burns his fingers on the soldering iron for the third time, he decides to give up. With a heavy sigh, he pushes his chair back, stretches and groans as the bones in his body click back into place after he spent the entire morning bent over the workbench. He adores tinkering, next to playing games it’s his favourite hobby and it usually never fails to cheer him up – even if nothing works, even if he has to re-do everything four times, it’s engrossing and rewarding. Today, he’s listless, can’t concentrate, is irritable and apparently exudes an aura of disgruntlement that makes everyone steer clear of him. The pain is negligible though white hot if he focuses on it, so he doesn’t and instead heads for the exit, slightly kicking against Bandit’s leg that coincidentally extends just as he walks past and that he narrowly manages to avoid.

It’s stupid. He’s well aware, knows how stupid it is and how stupid _he_ is and yet his feet don’t carry him in the direction it drags the rest of his body. He’s restless so he takes a walk, rubs absently at the faint marks around his wrist and stops when he realises he’s doing it. _Then_ he catches himself thinking he should pay Lesion a visit for one of his comforting hugs that he pretends to find unnecessary but really they centre him, clear his head, calm frazzled nerves better than anything else. Only he can’t, Lesion is the whole reason his fingers are throbbing faintly and why he hasn’t gotten anything done, therefore he can’t just go over and pretend nothing happened.

He barely remembers how it started and would like to forget how it ended, with him snapping at Lesion when he tried to make up with him, tried to appease him with gentle touches and soft words that fell on deaf ears. They separated afterwards, Echo stomping off to the workshop and Lesion probably joining Smoke, considerably less peeved than Echo purely because of who he is as a person. He’s eternally patient and somehow manages to never take Echo’s words personally if spoken in anger or self-defence or stress. It makes everything all the more complicated because then Echo feels worse about being annoyed.

An idea enters his mind that is so overbearing he’s sure he won’t get rid of it until he indulges, so he turns around on his heel and sets out to seek Ying, finds her deep in conversation with Valkyrie and waits politely until she turns to him with an expectant yet slightly resigned expression before he even opened his mouth. “Can we talk for a moment?”

Valkyrie nods at them and leaves them alone after which Ying immediately starts: “If this is about Yokai again, I already _said_ I’m sorry about ten times and frankly I’m tired of repeating -”

“No, no, this isn’t about that.” He hasn’t pestered her this much about it, has he?

“Oh. Then why do you want to talk?” When she notices his expression, her own softens with a small sigh. “I didn’t mean to imply -”

“Why did you break up with me?” The question renders her speechless. “You told me a few reasons but… I’d just like to know. It’s been a while. Maybe there were things you didn’t -”

“You were immature, petty and held grudges for no reason”, she interrupts him mid-sentence and sounds like she rehearsed the list in her head as she keeps going: “You couldn’t apologise even if your life depended on it, arguing with you was like pulling teeth, you were lazy in bed and you’re _awful_ at accepting criticism. Also, you still have that weird obsession with your hair.”

Echo blinks at her, stupefied. “You’ve… been waiting to tell me this for a while, haven’t you?” He can’t even disagree with her, actually – except for the thing about his hair, he’s not obsessed, he just doesn’t like imagining it looking messy or rather the _wrong_ kind of messy because there certainly is a right kind and oh God maybe she is actually spot on in everything she listed.

She offers an encouraging smile. “Yes, actually. Back then I didn’t think it’d go well, so I didn’t. Don’t take this the wrong way, you have a lot of good qualities, which is why I stayed so long and I still like you as a person. But I think you never really saw a future with me, not even in the beginning.”

That thought strikes a chord. “How could you tell?” Because he couldn’t, he was under the impression to be happy enough and deep down he’s scared it’ll turn out the same now. He doesn’t want it to. He really doesn’t.

Ying ponders his question for a while and then decides: “You put in just enough effort. I think that’s what it boils down to. You didn’t try to go beyond and you certainly didn’t ask any of your ex-girlfriends about your flaws.” This time, her smile is meaningful and he realises belatedly that she’s always been good at reading him. _Too_ good. “Who’s the lucky person?”

“Oh, I -” He can feel his cheeks grow warm but there’s a more pressing issue. “I actually need to go. But thank you for being honest.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. You’ve changed already, back then all you’d be doing now would be objecting indignantly.”

Well. She’s not _wrong_.

He excuses himself and makes a beeline for the SAS boys, easily found by following Sledge’s contagious and roaring laughter. Lesion’s amused expression melts into something more secret and fond when he catches sight of Echo, their argument from earlier obviously long forgotten, and he extracts himself from the others without making Echo ask him to. He’s relaxed and cheerful and smiling like he always is around him and Echo doesn’t know _why_.

Once they’re alone, he attempts to work up the courage to speak his mind, only Lesion wordlessly pulls him into a comforting hug, wraps his arms around Echo’s torso and holds on tight, so Echo mirrors him, puts his chin on Lesion’s shoulder, closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth, the intimacy of it. For a while, they’re frozen in time.

“I’m sorry”, he says quietly and the old man just chuckles.

“I know.” One of Lesion’s hands cards through his hair and though Echo tries to shake it off, in the end he allows it.

 

~*~

 

Even amidst all the sensations flooding his system, clogging his brain to the point where thinking becomes an impossibility, the ticklish touch of fingertips on his throat is still vividly present and, in response, he relaxes some more, hums affirmatively and feels velvet skin slide over his tongue, a little deeper into his mouth and he can’t breathe anymore, so he doesn’t. A soft curse uttered involuntarily makes a grin tug at his lips and he moves his tongue, stretches it out a little further and touches the curved piercing with the tip, moves it a little and is rewarded with another heartfelt swear that results in Lesion pulling back, leaving him panting for air and feeling weirdly empty despite the fact that he’s everything _but_.

“You’re entirely too good at this”, Lesion tells him, breathing hard himself and studying Echo with a proud smile that’s obvious even from upside down. He reaches out and strokes over one of the overly sensitive nipples, making Echo gasp, inhale and his chest strain against the soft ropes encasing his torso, digging into it and restricting his movements, dark against his skin and trapping his hands behind his back, eating a pretty pattern into him that’s not yet familiar. He’s yet to find out how many ways Lesion knows to tie him up, every time he does it it’s a different version, including or excluding certain body parts, tying them together, forcing them apart.

Right now it’s only his upper body and his arms but that doesn’t mean he’s exactly free in his position: from a kneel he’s bent backwards, arching in a way that turns Lesion’s gaze smouldering, his head dangling over the edge of the bed to allow for easy access to his mouth. It doesn’t stop there, the discomfort of his position, the restraints caging him in aren’t all of it, there’s also an incessant whirring in the air that Echo feels marrow deep, that is eroding his very being slowly but surely, a combination of two things: one of which is nestled deep inside and mercilessly rubs against a spot that has him thrusting against air in frustration, seeking relief where there is none; the other held in place against his rock hard shaft with a hairband, stuck on the lowest setting and providing nothing but teasing, sluggish pleasure that’s _not enough_.

It’s easy to lose himself in the onslaught of sensations barraging his body, focus on the way his hole hungrily clamps down on the foreign object, causing it to vibrate _directly_ against that sweet spot, making him whimper, the muscles in his legs stand out, his erection twitch uselessly. He’s so gone for a moment that the soft touch causes him to start and remember what it is he’s supposed to be doing. Obediently, he opens his mouth again and welcomes the thick head of Lesion’s dick with a flick of his tongue that causes its owner to groan. Lesion is nothing but considerate and controlled, grants him enough time to get used to the feeling again, strokes his jaw, his cheeks, his neck, musses up his hair gently and massages his scalp as he works his cock deeper into Echo’s mouth with languid, short movements.

He’s gotten used to the feeling of silky flesh between his lips, the weight of it on his tongue, was hesitant the first few times but spurred on by the interesting faces and noises Lesion produced, blissful and thoroughly aroused, looking at Echo with a mix of wonder and fierce desire. There’s almost something meditative about it, the repetition of the movements allowing his mind to float between acute awareness and pure passion as he eagerly hollows his cheeks every time Lesion withdraws, tongues his slit and the ridge of the head, moans unselfconsciously when his own pleasure spikes for a moment, making Lesion’s breath hitch due to the vibrations in his throat. In a way, Echo genuinely enjoys it, relishes in knowing he’s affecting the otherwise so composed Lesion to such an extent that he has him cursing and taking breaks so he doesn’t overdo it.

There are fingers on his throat again, so he relaxes, allows Lesion all the way in once more, tongues the barbell at the base of his shaft cheekily and basks in the disbelieving groan he prompts in doing so, though his pride is short-lived as Lesion pinches one of his nipples now, knowing full well what kind of effect this has. Echo utters a high-pitched whine, his hips jerk upwards, his ring of muscle and throat both contract around the objects inside them, making his body suddenly realise it can’t breathe. There’s a short-lived panic that floods his system with adrenaline, has his heart pumping in overdrive and everything becomes painfully sharp all of a sudden. He keenly feels everything that is being done to his body, the ropes and vibrations are crystal clear, the ache in his limbs, the thrumming need for release, the momentary lack of oxygen, the warm hand resting on his collarbone – not pushing, not restricting, yet keeping him in place and stopping him from withdrawing.

When he gets the chance, he inhales greedily, sharpening the edges of his vision once again, then Lesion pushes back in, twisting his nipple and this time it’s less of a shock so he merely moans around his cock, tries to swallow and can’t help but feel a little gleeful about the hand on his upper body starting to tremble. It moves back to his hair, fists the wild strands gently and betrays how desperately close Lesion is, indicated also by the quick aborted thrusts in sync with his panting, the only time when he actually shuts up during sex, is too overwhelmed to praise Echo or even just to swear. Echo sucks even harder on the hot flesh now, can feel Lesion sway unsteadily, the grip in his hair tightening and then his only warning is a strangled gasp before he comes, dick throbbing and spurting viscous liquid that Echo swallows without protest as he massages the soft skin with his tongue, milking Lesion patiently even though hearing him orgasm is a whole other turn-on, a heady sensation, addicting, satisfying all on its own. His own cock is dripping by now, mercilessly and continuously stimulated by the unassuming, bullet-shaped thing tied to it, making his toes curl and his mind fog.

Breathing heavily, Lesion grants him a moment to adjust his jaw, then he leans down and kisses him upside down which is slightly awkward but doesn’t make it any less sweet, his tongue rubbing over Echo’s as if he wants to test whether he came deep enough as to not make him taste it, something Echo made _very_ clear he’s not keen on doing. Even from his position, he can tell Lesion’s expression is fond, loving, grateful after they’ve parted, his soft touches affectionate. It’s one of the reasons he trusts him, allows him to do what he does. He knows Lesion really cares about him, would never do anything against his will.

“Well”, he says, still slightly out of breath, “you’d better sit up for this next part, darling.”

And Echo just grins in anticipation.

 

~*~

 

If someone asked him, he’d be hard pressed to decide on his second favourite thing about all the sex they’re having – his favourite, undoubtedly, is the moment he’s granted release, _proper_ release, not the horrible frustrating mess Lesion sometimes subjects him to, no, it’s the second in which he can wholly let go, when he knows he’s going to be in ecstasy for the next _minute_ with gasps and contractions and aftershocks. But apart from that? He enjoys the fact most of it is deliberate, controlled, intentional, Lesion designates entire evenings just for this, it’s no whim, no sudden urge, there’s nothing coincidental about it and Echo has rarely experienced anything like this. By now, he’s gotten used to handing himself over as well, giving up any control over his body – it’s strangely liberating since all he has to do is follow orders, there’s no need to think for himself or any expectations he has to fulfil.

He’s even come to appreciate Lesion in his entirety, the confidence with which his wiry body moves, the praise endlessly falling from his mouth, the loving pet names, the way he handles Echo like a piece of art yet not like he’s fragile at the same time, his genuine, wide smiles, how his moans go straight to Echo’s crotch and make him squirm when they’re close to his ear, the absent-minded smile of which he doesn’t even seem aware that’s always on his face while he watches Echo as he teases him…

Okay. Maybe _Lesion_ is his second favourite thing about all this.

His kisses are part of the reason too, they’re always deep and loving, like Lesion can’t think of anything he’d want more than to slide their mouths together, play with his tongue, suck and nibble on his lower lip, one hand buried in Echo’s hair that’s always wild when they’re done, his other hand ostensibly alleviating the need pulsing in Echo’s veins but they both know it’s too early for that, he’ll stop if Echo gets too close. They’re sitting on the bed, Echo half in his lap and bent down so they can make out while he feels light touches ghosting over his sensitive glans but he’s learned to be patient – or at least _seem_ patient because the ropes are digging into his body now with how his arms strain against them, tense up every time fingers encircle his dick, press the vibrator tighter against it and make his toes curl.

When Lesion pulls back, he takes a moment to drink Echo in, runs his fingers over the ropes on his sides that restrict his breathing, only allowing for shallow inhales. “Are they too tight?”

“Yeah”, Echo says quietly, lightly thrusting his hips into Lesion’s fist that wraps around his shaft below the toy tied to it, relishing the stimulation for as long as he’s allowed.

“Do you want me to loosen them?”, comes the follow-up question, accompanied by a grin that grows into a wide, beautiful, genuine thing when Echo shakes his head mutely. “You’re doing so well. You’re stunning, my love, I could admire you all night. Lift up a little.” He scoots back a bit, changes position into an upright kneel and wavers when there’s a digit rubbing over his rim, causing a tingling feeling that shoots through his core and has him clench around the object still inside him. The sudden wave of lust has him gasping and trying to bend forwards which is impossible – this must be what a corset feels like, keeping him vertical, limiting his movements.

Lesion is satisfied with the result, generously lubes up the fingers of one hand and repeats the motion, slicking up Echo’s ring of muscle around the toy, deliberately moving it so it presses against all the right places, his prostate, his perineum. The tendons in his thighs are standing out with the effort of keeping him upright and Lesion strokes over them, strokes his hipbones, his ass, the back of his thigh while he coaxes Echo to relax around the foreign object. The feat seems inconceivable, he’s still being assaulted on several fronts simultaneously, his cock throbbing fiercely when Lesion starts lapping at one of his nipples like a cat and yet he manages, clenches his teeth and shudders as one finger slips inside, causing no discomfort but searing pleasure instead. He’s so full already, hisses at the sensation of being filled to the brim now. There’s barely any of his initial hesitation left about pushing anything… up _there_ – which should probably give him pause by itself, when did he become so eager to experiment – but after few awkward and longer than necessary conversations with Lesion, careful and gentle testing yielded unexpectedly positive results that left Echo sobbing and almost dislocating his own shoulder, so his inhibitions concerning … _this_ have lowered considerably.

“You love this”, Lesion states and it’s hard to disagree when he’s trembling, sweating, biting back groans, “you’re going to be such a size Queen, honey.” His other hand removes the hairband from his leaking cock to which Echo flinches and then the finger pulls out momentarily, is replaced by the bullet vibrator that glides in effortlessly, is swallowed whole except for the strap attached to it and followed by the digit again, pushing it further up and making the oscillations resonate deep within Echo, causing his eyes to hood and his mouth to fall open. Lesion is merciless, barely grants him any time to adjust to the new onslaught of sensations before he cheekily asks: “Do you want another?”

The idea immediately takes a hold in his mind, the prospect of being stretched this much enticing and scary at the same time, so he merely nods, breathes a shaky _yeah_ and clamps down around the intrusion reflexively when the finger starts pumping in and out slowly. “Fuck, oh _fuck_ ”, he murmurs and can’t help but imagine how it would feel if this was Lesion’s cock, hot and thick inside him, complementing him, the mental image irresistible and working like an aphrodisiac. When a second fingertip starts teasing his hole, he moans, loud and unexpected even for him and he wants it, wants Lesion to push his boundaries.

“I don’t think you can take it though”, Lesion continues talking casually as if Echo wasn’t falling apart in front of him due to nothing but two of his fingers, “not yet. We’ll get there.” He whines in protest, grinds his hips down onto Lesion’s hand and is stopped by a palm on his thigh. “Don’t move.” What sounds like a command really is genuine concern in disguise, Echo knows he just doesn’t want him to get hurt and suddenly, the urge to feel him inside becomes overwhelming, amplified by the soft words and affectionate touches and it’s been like this since the beginning, hasn’t it? It took a while for him to get used to Lesion and now he can’t get _enough_ somehow. And as if he can sense his frustration, Lesion smiles up at him and whispers: “It’s okay. I’ll make it good, sweetheart.”

 

~*~

 

He’s at the point where every light touch is electrifying, so when Lesion adjusts his position, leans down and licks a broad stripe along the underside of his cock, the restraints cut into his flesh due to him desperately trying to reach out, reach down, run his fingers along the scars on Lesion’s face that somehow have become so dear to him. He’s vulnerable, feels a hint of shame at how desperate he is, how filthy like this, his body a plaything but none of this invalidates the piercing lust in his veins. A tongue swirls over his head and his breath hitches, the slick slide divine after all that lack of direct stimulation. His dick jumps eagerly and keeps doing so with every successive lick, his nerve endings overloading, prompting a quiet chuckle from Lesion.

“Don’t come until I tell you to”, he says, smiling up at Echo before finally wrapping his lips around his cock, trapping it in moist heat and continuing to tongue it gently. There’s a warning in his words that doesn’t go unnoticed – he told Echo the same thing before and when he disregarded it, lost in hazy pleasure, Lesion not only ruined that orgasm for him but proceeded to torture him for the next half an hour, playing with his nipples and fingering him, granting him no other stimulation, didn’t even edge him until he begged and then teased him until he sobbed. His entire body was sore afterwards but sometimes he lets his mind wander and considers ignoring Lesion’s warning on purpose.

Not this time though, he’s in shambles as is, trembling with the effort of staying still, not jerk his hips forward and shove his dick down Lesion’s throat unannounced – after all, he showed him the same courtesy even if he wasn’t tied up and overstimulated already. His breathing is irregular and entirely dependent on what Lesion is doing, whether his mouth allows him to inhale properly or whether it does something that punches the air out of his lungs all of a sudden. For some reason, he _loves_ blowing Echo, taking him apart with his lips and his tongue and Echo never had a lover who was this generous, neither in general nor with sex. The fact that he’s amazingly good at it is just an added bonus.

When the finger inside starts moving again, Echo _almost_ comes, whimpers and pants as Lesion merely holds him in his mouth, waits until the danger has passed and then proceeds to devastate him, bobbing his head and sucking hard, pausing now and then to grant him _just_ enough time to recover, force down the urge to let loose, scramble to pick up what’s left of his self control, only to be reduced to a moaning mess a few seconds later. The wet heat around his cock is unbearable, the buzzing deep inside even more so and he needs to – he _needs_ to – “Oh please”, he whispers breathlessly, “please, can I come? Let me come, Tze Long, _please_.”

Lesion hums contentedly around his dick at the use of his name, making Echo whine and arch his back but keep his hips perfectly still regardless. He sucks Echo right to the brink once more and then pulls back, withdraws his hand, watches with a smile how Echo gasps dejectedly, sags, sinks back on his heels, looks at him imploringly. “It’s hard to say no when you look this ravishing”, Lesion tells him, his eyes twinkling with mirth, “and you’ve been good, love. Lift back up.”

Sighing both from exhaustion as well as the hope that Lesion _means_ it, Echo rises again, kneels upright and makes a conscious effort to relax his arms and shoulders, ease some of the strain the ropes put on his body, flinches a little when a lubed up hand takes hold of his shaft and starts moving over it languidly. He clenches his fists at the slow pace and wobbles unsteadily, his muscles sore and tired and so he’s grateful when Lesion wraps an arm around him as support. However, the sentiment doesn’t last long because just a second later, Lesion digs his fingers into his plump ass cheek and reverts to nibbling at one of his nipples, coercing a helpless groan out of Echo as well as a thrust of his hips, making Lesion tut.

“Don’t make this harder on yourself”, he mumbles against Echo’s chest, “do it yourself, but keep still.” His strokes are maddeningly slow and not _enough_ , not even with the licks over his sensitive nipple, not even with the hand massaging his ass – and then Lesion’s words register, click into place. Echo gasps at the implication, the audacity, the shamefulness of it all yet obliges nonetheless, desperate and reassured by Lesion’s body heat, his embrace, his _presence_. He clenches around the toy inside him and is rewarded with blinding pleasure, as sudden and intense as it is fleeting but he can feel Lesion smile against his skin and so he does it again, moans loudly and resists the urge to just thrust into the tight fist around his cock. “You’re so fucking hot”, Lesion tells him and there’s no amusement in his voice now, just admiration and amazement as he continues with his slow pumping, and it’s – he’s almost there, he’s so close –

He wonders whether this is what Lesion would sound like once they finally, _finally_ fuck properly, whether he’d be breathless and losing composure and holding him close so they can kiss – and he’s so _close_ – and Lesion moves up, sucks on the side of his neck so Echo, suddenly starved for affection, rubs his cheek on his hair like a cat while he keeps contracting his muscles for every little bit of stimulation, shuddering with want and the exertion of staying in this position and then Lesion’s hand speeds up momentarily and he tips over.

It’s not explosive this time, more like gently yet quickly being submerged in water, feeling it coming without ever getting ready for it. His orgasm ripples through him, has him exhale sharply, struggle against the restraints that are actually stinging uncomfortably – it’s a fluid thing, intense and extreme, pulsing and sweet, relieving and dazzling. He only stays upright because of Lesion’s tight hold, shakes as he comes, groaning and spurting come as Lesion continues to jerk him lazily, long strokes from the base to the tip with which he milks him while Echo’s stomach muscles flutter. He feels like he’s floating for the longest time and when he comes down, Lesion is peppering his neck and shoulders with kisses.

Bonelessly, he flops down on the bed, thoroughly exhausted and _done_ with the world. As much as he enjoys all of it, as much as he’s still basking in the afterglow, sex with Lesion tires him out to no end. Now that the rush is subsiding, he notices the pain from the ropes, the way his muscles burn, his arms and shoulders twisted uncomfortably and his insides numb. He winces when Lesion gingerly pulls out the toys, groans as he unties him carefully and sighs as he finally stretches out his arms again. “How do you feel?”, Lesion asks, as he does every time, beaming and soothing the raw skin on Echo’s upper body with gentle fingertips, and the question entails a lot more. He gets restless whenever Echo doesn’t answer right away.

“Come here”, Echo says instead, pulls their bodies flush, probably smears Lesion’s chest with his semen but the kiss is intimate and lovely and deep so neither of them care. It’s his way of showing he’s fine, he enjoyed it, Lesion didn’t overstep any boundaries, they can do this again.

When they separate, the fond expression on Lesion’s face tells him he understands. “Let’s take a bath, dear”, he suggests and Echo just nods.

 

~*~

 

This is probably his third favourite part. Unlike the rest of their time together, right now Echo doesn’t feel vaguely guilty upon letting Lesion pamper him but rather enjoys it whole-heartedly, basks in his attentiveness and care as he’s being hauled to the bathroom. His legs almost buckle after stepping into the bathtub and so Lesion clings to him, holds him up as he washes them, lets his hands glide over Echo’s skin and never stops kissing parts of his body. Afterwards, he has Echo sit down while he towels himself off quickly and then insists on washing his hair. He always takes great pleasure in gently massaging shampoo into Echo’s scalp, lathering it up for much longer than necessary, and Echo knows it’s because the shower is one of two places where Lesion is allowed to mess with his hair – which is not to say he’s complaining, quite the opposite. His eyes fall shut due to the affectionate ministrations and he can feel the tension seeping out of his body at the repetitive motions.

Once Lesion has had enough, he rinses him off and starts running a bath while he returns to the bedroom, tidies it and changes the sheets. Echo has no idea where he gets the energy, he himself is always shattered after an orgasm but Lesion’s only seem to fuel him. He turns the water a little hotter and adds some of the bubble bath he bought ages ago and has only recently come to use – both of which would make Lesion object.

When Lesion returns, he snorts at the sight of Echo being encased in pristine white foam and smiling at him cheekily. “Every time we do this, I end up smelling like a hippie for two days”, he predictably complains as he tests the water with his fingers and grimaces at the heat.

“Why a hippie?”

“This is bloody patchouli bubble bath, darling. Don’t you think someone will notice that we both smell like we sell pot in dark alleys?”

“I don’t think anyone comes close enough to smell us both in succession.” With an exasperated sigh, Lesion climbs into the tub and they rearrange themselves awkwardly until Echo is sitting between his legs and leaning against his chest, resting his head on his shoulder. Fingers card through his hair, undoubtedly making it stick up in all directions at once though it’s still fair game, so he allows it. The lines that show clearly where the ropes cut into his skin are very slowly subsiding but still pulsing faintly – maybe he overdid it after all. He doesn’t even care, weirdly, they serve as a reminder like the apparently never fading marks on his wrists do; merely looking at them or feeling them under his fingertips sparks a strangely reassuring warmth in his everyday life.

“Do you think”, Lesion starts uncertainly and it’s _never_ a good sign if he of all people is hesitating, “you would… at some point in the future… _maybe_ –”

“What is it?”

“… let me pierce your nipples?”

For a moment, the only sound in the small room is the faint popping of bubbles as Echo slowly opens his eyes in horror. “What -”

“Look, babe -”

“Don’t fucking call me _babe_ right after asking -”

“I’ve done it before, I’m really good with -”

“That’s not the point, I don’t care -”

“I’ve rarely met anyone whose nipples are as sensitive as -”

“Yeah, and that means it’s going to hurt like a _bitch_!”

“But it’d look so _good_ , trust me, you could -”

“What, so good that you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself? You already can’t. And don’t they need time to heal? Do you really think you could leave them alone for that long?”

“You’re thinking about it”, Lesion says with an audible grin.

“No way in _hell_. Nuh uh. No, Tze Long, absolutely not. I’m not going to let you stick needles in my nipples just because it’d make you cream yourself.”

“I could do them one at a time – wait until the first one’s healed, then -”

“ _No_.”

“It doesn’t actually hurt that much -”

“If I agree to one, will you finally fuck me?” It comes out harsher than he intended, as proven by the stunned silence that follows. He regrets addressing it this way though he doesn’t rue addressing it at all since he’s getting increasingly frustrated that Lesion is holding out on him.

“Masaru.” The voice by his ear is gentle, Lesion presses a kiss into his hair and strokes his chest with both hands, obviously trying to appease him. “It’s not that I don’t want to, you know this, love. I just want to make it special.”

“I gave you permission right in the beginning.”

“You had no idea what you were agreeing to at that point.”

“Now I do.”

“I’m not trading this away for a nipple piercing.”

“But you’re thinking about it.” Lesion chuckles and squeezes him fondly between his legs. For now, Echo is mollified, soothed by the hot water, the hands petting him and the way Lesion rests his head against his. It’s odd, they’re always so at peace after sex, possibly because Echo craves affection afterwards where he usually shies away from it, resorts to banter and deflection. During the day, he feels skittish and it’s probably extremely unfair yet even though he relishes Lesion’s presence, they haven’t talked about what they’re doing and it makes him nervous. He has seriously considered whether Lesion only wants sex from him but that wouldn’t explain the fact that they _still_ go on dates, that he still seems to make a conscious effort to woo Echo, that they spend at least as much time just in each other’s company as they do in bed. “Do you want to renegotiate?”, he asks overly casual, drawing meaningless patterns on Lesion’s knee. The original date for the three weeks passed more than a week ago yet neither of them has mentioned it so far.

“Do you want anything to change?”

“Do _you_?”, he shoots back petulantly – after all, he asked first.

“Sweetheart, if you’d let me, I’d do nothing but French kiss you in public and announce to everyone how beautiful your cock is.”

He can’t help it, he has to laugh at that mental image despite the fact that it also makes his cheeks burn. “I’m not allowing any of that”, he feels the need to clarify because you never know with Lesion.

“Shame. It really is very sightly.”

Echo snorts at that but part of him is reassured upon hearing that Lesion neither wants this to end nor insists on pushing him further.

Later, when they’re snuggling under the fresh covers, comfortably tired and admittedly smelling very flowery, Echo thinks about the fragile routine they’ve established – fragile because they still argue over food, often get up at different times and don’t spend every night at each other’s flats – and realises they sometimes have lazy evenings where Echo games and Lesion reads and he doesn’t feel obliged to entertain him and it’s actually pretty relaxed. “If you want, you can come over more”, he murmurs against the back of Lesion’s neck.

“I’d love to”, comes the answer with no hesitation and he can practically _feel_ the contentment rolling off Lesion in waves. It’s… endearing, in a way. Slightly addicting, too, because he presses closer to Echo and laces their fingers together and by now he’s gotten used to sleeping next to someone else. It seems like a slippery slope, if this continues he’ll allow him more and more. And oddly, he doesn’t even mind.

 

~*~

 

There’s something odd about the SAS operators recently, Echo has noticed a while ago yet was unable to put his finger on it until he realised that they spent a disproportionate amount of time in his vicinity. This excludes Thatcher who undoubtedly has enough on his plate, but especially Smoke and Mute just _happen_ to be in the same room as him whenever possible, even going so far as to sit next to him in the workshop. He discovered that Mute enjoys video games as well, dabbles in all kinds of different genres; his interests even overlap with some of Echo’s, making his opinion of the Brit skyrocket. They added each other on various relevant platforms and programs and chat now and then but mostly keep to themselves on base since their circles don’t really interact much.

Except that apparently, they do. Because they hover around him – even Sledge seems to keep an eye on him sometimes, though it’s hard to pinpoint the exact reason why. For a while, despite the fact he’s pretty sure they don’t know about whatever it is the two of them have, Echo suspected they were gauging how well he and Lesion fit together, whether he deserves him or not. If they’d asked him, he probably would’ve told them that no, he _doesn’t_ deserve all the devotion that’s suddenly being thrown at him. Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t really, regardless of what Lesion seems to think.

Right now, they’re outside on a break. Dokkaebi isn’t on duty today so Echo has taken a seat at the edges of the circle around Smoke who’s gesturing emphatically and exchanging quips with an entirely unimpressed Mute who, despite being engrossed in his lunch, manages to keep up with him effortlessly. Echo has noticed this before: the two of them banter like professionals, both of them giving as good as they get. Not only that, Mute is also one of the few who doesn’t let Smoke intimidate, badger or mock him – at least not without shooting back. Their utterances click together satisfyingly and create an atmosphere of comfortable familiarity that normally would spark nothing more than faint envy in Echo yet now hits him full force.

He misses him. It’s hard to admit and even harder to accept but ever since Lesion left for the special training course almost two weeks ago, Echo’s moods have been unpredictable and his evenings unbearably long. He _misses_ Lesion and it’s been so long since he felt anything like this that he forgot how to deal with it. Instead, he mopes and checks his phone compulsively whenever he can. He loathes the fact that time zones exist because they barely even get the chance to call, so instead they text not nearly as often as he’d like but it’s better than nothing. Even if it’s nothing but stupid emoji, even if it’s just the cheesy kissy face he hates.

It’s not enough. On one of the few occasions they got to speak for an extended period of time, he grew harder and harder just from hearing his voice. He steadfastly refused to disclose that fact when Lesion asked outright after he failed several times to answer a few simple questions due to being too distracted by literally nothing but his boner. Even though he was embarrassed about it, Lesion took it in stride, started giving orders with which Echo complied eagerly and talked him all the way through an earth-shattering orgasm that left his ears ringing, only to reveal that he’d been sitting in a café the entire time and sure hoped none of the locals speak English. The entire experience was elating and lessened the pressure on his chest but ultimately, it wasn’t enough.

“Yo, drone boy”, Smoke rudely interrupts his brooding and kicks at his foot, “did you hear? We’re going to a party soon, you wanna come with?”

“What, you actively uninvite me but _he_ can tag along?”, Bandit cuts in, dismayed and visibly offended.

“He’s not going to dismantle the entire interior decoration now, is he? As opposed to you.”

“A friend of a friend is throwing it”, Mute patiently explains to Echo while the other two start throwing things at each other verbally, “and it’d do you some good to get outside more. And it’s _me_ saying this, so you know I’m right.” Mute is an even bigger geek than Echo, therefore having him remark on Echo’s lack of a social life does carry special meaning.

“Alright”, he agrees, mostly because he now can be sure that Bandit won’t be there but also because he’s come to genuinely like Mute, though admittedly talking to him is much more pleasant when Smoke isn’t present. “When is it?”

“This Saturday.”

A lot plays into it but the fact that his bed feels so ridiculously empty all of a sudden, breakfast tedious, evenings boring is probably the main reason for his slip-up: “But that’s when Tze Long comes back.” He realises immediately, even before Bandit’s head whips around, and he can’t really backtrack either – the question as to why this is relevant at all would remain regardless.

“I didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him”, Bandit says, suspicious, and Echo is too busy panicking to think of anything to help him out of this hole he dug for himself.

“He just likes bragging about being able to pronounce it right. Remember how much Lesion laughed when I butchered it? Chinese is fucking crazy, you put the wrong emphasis on something like _Batman_ and suddenly you’ve bought a dishwasher.”

It’s not just Smoke, Mute jumps in to his rescue as well: “Oh, you mean he already asked you about joining him? I told him we’d try to get you to come with us, so yeah, we’re both talking about the same party.”

This is when he realises they _know_. The way both of them smoothly cover up his mistake, immediately draw attention away from the topic and portray it as a misunderstanding is unambiguous and now their behaviour retroactively makes a lot of sense. They were looking out for him, Smoke probably for no other reason than to do Lesion a favour – he makes no secret of how much he values their friendship – and Mute hopefully because he reciprocates Echo’s sympathy. The revelation is both sobering and reassuring because while this means that Mute would normally not have approached him, the result is that he _did_. Besides, it’s never bad to be allied with the SAS operators.

Another surprise: he doesn’t mind that they know. Part of him wants to believe that they found out because Lesion can’t help but be obvious about it which, to be fair, is extremely probable. It’s flattering, actually, though it exacerbates his longing for the other man.

Once the situation has been defused and the conversation moved on, Echo catches Mute’s eye and mouths a _thank you_ that’s met with a slight smile and the whispered words: “If you’re playing with his feelings, Smoke _will_ stab you.”

Echo doesn’t doubt it.

 

~*~

 

It’s a logistical nightmare to cram the three British men as well as Lesion and Echo into the tiny car, especially because Sledge is stupidly tall and massive and Smoke insists on driving, meaning Lesion ends up halfway squished behind the shotgun riding Scotsman – and Echo between him and Mute who’s also far from small. Together, they groan and accidentally elbow each other in the sides several times as they struggle to fasten their seatbelts but manage eventually. The pleasant side effect of being pressed intimately close to Lesion is sadly negated by the fact that Echo can barely _breathe_ and he wonders whose idea it was to drive to the party together.

On the way, Lesion recounts his experiences from the past two weeks, most of which Echo has already heard and so he instead focuses on not panicking when Lesion’s fingers find his own and thread them together, holding on confidently and without asking and it’s so sweet that Echo’s teeth hurt. Lesion returned a few hours ago, exhausted yet content and Echo had to twist his arm to take a much needed nap before their colleagues would pick them up later, joined him in bed and dozed a little while wrapped around him, happy to finally have an outlet for all his … affection again.

They arrive in what looks like a residential area and not like a place where any of the Brits would go to have fun but they’re stopping and climbing out of the car nonetheless, joking and looking extremely nonchalant. Lesion nudges him with a mischievous smile and a _watch this_ expression and asks: “So, who’s going to be the designated driver?”

Cue collective eye rolling from the other three who immediately form a circle – apparently this is an old ritual of theirs – and fire off a few extremely fast rounds of rock, paper, scissors in which they keep picking the exact same thing every time, resulting in nothing but ties until they eventually shrug. “No winner, no designated driver. We’re taking a cab back home”, Sledge announces to Echo’s bewilderment.

“This is the fourth car we lost this way”, Smoke informs him before strolling up to a seemingly random, unsuspecting-looking house and entering without even knocking or ringing the bell.

They’re joking, of course. Echo sincerely hopes they are. “What kind of party is this?”, he belatedly wants to know and dubiously watches Mute hide the car keys in someone’s front yard.

“Oh, a friend of one of my buddies from Cambridge lives here, some professor for neuroscience I think. Used to give away LSD because, you know, selling it is kind of illegal. Shall we?”

 

So far, Echo has stumbled across a potato salad that probably witnessed the Queen being crowned back in the day, almost stepped into pizza on the best way to sentience, shunned a pile of ham sandwiches that looked sadder than most children when Mufasa dies and made a wide berth around various bowls of crisps into which a few questionable people have already reached after having licked their fingers clean. It’s no wonder then that he immediately approaches the first thing that looks edible to him, even _delicious_ , and decides to chat it up. “Hey. What are you doing?”

“Mixing myself a Long Island Iced Tea”, Lesion replies, distracted, as he squints pensively at the almost empty bottle of rum in his hand before dumping the rest of the clear liquid into his tall glass as well. They’re alone in the kitchen, most of the other numerous guests have filed into the small garden or stayed in the vast living room. “It’s basically every type of alcohol plus a _splash_ of coke.”

“That sounds positively abhorrent”, Echo replies and eyes the other man more closely. Even if the available food hadn’t been as repulsive as it is, even if it had been the best thing he’s ever eaten, he’d probably still prefer _him_. His fingers are itching to touch his hair and the urge to just step up to him and hug him from behind, pull him close, never let go is almost overwhelming.

“Oh, I can assure you, it is.” Lesion turns to him with a grin on his lips and Echo wants to pry them apart with his tongue, kiss him until either one of them faints, _devour_ him. Lesion has never been more attractive, his tan is darker now and in stark contrast to his light clothing and Echo feels oddly charged, merely waiting for the right moment to unload this electricity dancing in his veins, uncertain as to where all this came from but unwilling to fight against it.

He plucks the glass out of Lesion’s hand and takes a generous sip that leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth and sets his throat on fire. Judging by the amused snort, the grimace he unknowingly produces must be extremely entertaining, yet he takes another sip and notices heat rising in him. “That is vile”, he agrees and grabs the coke bottle to turn this disaster into something vaguely drinkable.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

While he continues to gulp down the abomination Lesion mixed together, he ponders the question and finally says: “I genuinely couldn’t tell you. I talked to some guy about all his past lives who just _happened_ to be Kings, assassins and just generally important people, coincidentally, and when I say _talked_ I mean that he chewed my ear off. But then I got rescued by some girl who’s like half my age and already doing her PhD in particle physics and she was lovely. Also I’m convinced that two women were flirting with me purely because I called someone who ranted in favour of Brexit a fucking idiot.”

Lesion makes a curious noise at this last part. “Were they hot?”

That’s – that’s not the question he’s supposed to ask. Echo doesn’t know which one he should be posing instead, only that it’s not _this_ one. Feeling vindictive, he says: “Extremely.”

“Nice. You could suggest they join us later, when I -”

Echo slams the glass onto the counter harder than he intended to and licks the lame joke off of Lesion’s mouth, kisses him and crowds him against the counter, kisses him and snakes his arms around his warm torso, kisses him forever. They barely did before coming here, a few pecks and not enough deep ones, so he’s starved and parched and freezing. The problem is he can’t _stop_ , not now that the familiar smell that’s unmistakably Lesion is in his nose and drives him insane; he’s impossibly aroused and wants to hold Lesion down, thrust into his mouth, come all over him, suck him until he shakes and _where_ is this deep-seated, primal desire coming from -

“Oh my God”, Lesion mumbles against his mouth and moans involuntarily when Echo slots their hips together, grinds against him unashamedly to show him just how much he missed him, “darling, you’re bloody _plastered_.”

And _oh_. That’s probably it. Now that he says it, Echo realises how light-headed he is, how little control he actually has over his tongue as he continues to shove it down Lesion’s throat. He barely noticed how much he drank but, thinking back, it was a _lot_. Not that it matters right now – on a rational level, he’s aware that he probably shouldn’t do any of this in some stranger’s kitchen yet his drunk brain reacts to the sudden proximity to this man in particular _very_ enthusiastically. When Lesion interrupts their extremely sloppy make out session, Echo merely moves on to nibble at his ear and pushes one of his hands under his t-shirt to stroke over an erect nipple, relishing the yelp this gets him in return and the way Lesion attempts to wiggle out of his grasp.

“Babe, honey, no, wait”, he whispers and Echo loves how panicked he sounds, “don’t – oh God – how about we go back to the party for a bit longer and then we can continue once we’re -”

“I missed you.” His other hand tries to sneak into Lesion’s trousers but is caught by the wrist and pulled away, so in revenge he gently bites at Lesion’s neck which earns him a soft curse that goes straight to his crotch. “I don’t know why you wanted to go to this stupid party instead of fucking me all night.”

Lesion’s voice is unsteady now and it’s such a turn-on that his words take a moment to register: “I – I thought _you_ wanted to go.”

“Wait, did they tell you I already agreed when they asked you?” A nod and Echo has to laugh despite having gotten played so obviously. “Mute said the same to me.” And it really doesn’t matter by now because even if they wasted some time, they still have the rest of the night and actually, Echo is enjoying making _Lesion_ squirm for once. He latches onto heated skin with his mouth and sucks a large purple bruise into existence while he pinches the nipple with his one hand, shakes off the weak grip with the other, grabbing Lesion’s ass and pressing their lower halves together as his lover just flails helplessly.

“I see you’re having fun”, someone comments from behind them and this Scottish accent can only belong to Sledge but Echo doesn’t even care, not a single bit because all that’s in his mind is Lesion and his body and what he’s going to do to both.

“We’re a-actually leaving”, Lesion stutters, trying and failing to pry Echo off of him.

“Weird”, says Sledge and there might be a hint of amusement, “that’s not what it looks like to me.”


End file.
